


Intermezzo

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: K: Interludes [4]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fushimi is like a prickly hedgehog, Fushimi still has trouble expressing himself, Gen, Patient!Yata is Patient, Post-K: Seven Stories Episode 6: Circle Vision - Nameless Song, Post-ROK, contemplative angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: Follows "Sonata" - In the aftermath of the events of "K: Seven Stories - Episode 6: Circle Vision - Nameless Song" Fushimi and Yata have another chat and contemplate their relationship.Or...where Fushimi really doesn't give a flying f--- about holidays and receives a Valentine's Day gift by a slightly(?) oblivious Yata in the aftermath.





	Intermezzo

**Author's Note:**

> The way I was reading both Fushimi and Yata's relationship/interactions and subsequent conversations with others in "Circle Vision" gave me the indication that both were at somewhat peace with being friendly rivals if not getting closer to the relationship/friendliness shown in the post-credit stills of "Return of Kings." Then my brain decided to throw a bucket of angst into it and out popped this.

Fushimi nudged a pebble with the toe of his sneaker and sent it flying down the sidewalk as he entered the park. He was still trying to quell the rush of adrenaline, the rush of power that had been coursing through him for the last...well, several days – he supposed. Time was relative when the remnant of the Slate had activated, plunging the whole of the Kanto region into a Groundhog Day-esque loop. Communication with the rest of Japan had been iffy at best, but the other government divisions were attempting to remedy the situation at the moment.

Sceptre 4 was back on duty, focusing more on the excavation site – and a thorough review of security protocols since it had been the once-thought-missing Gojo Sukuna that had activated the Wish. Fushimi had immediately taken the rest of the day off, not even submitting to Research's post-engagement questions before he changed and walked out of Sceptre 4's campus.

He did not _want_ to answer any questions at the moment – not until he regained some form of equilibrium within himself. His aimless wanderings led him to the same park that he had frequented in the days that passed while they had been under the Slate's influence and power. How ironic, a part of him groused as he flopped unceremoniously down onto the bench and closed his eyes.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve some of the tension he felt. He thought had been rather indifferent regarding the Wish that had ensnared their collective consciousness, but he did not deny that he was rather relieved once the dream world disappeared. It shook him – but not for reasons he knew why. To him...those moments were...

“Huh...you too eh?”

Fushimi cracked open an eye and watched as Misaki rolled up on his skateboard, flipping it to his hand and plop down on the other end of the bench like him. He must be more rattled than he thought if he did not even sense the vanguard of HOMRA arrive or even hear him roll up.

He closed his eye again and leaned his head back against the bench, letting the wood dig into the back of his hair. It was uncomfortable, but it was tactile and most importantly it felt _real_. That dream world, besides feeling complacent and off, did not feel as tactile. It was like he could almost grasp everything and it would dissolve in between his fingers.

“Hey...Fushimi,” Misaki spoke up and he cracked an eye open again. “Is this real?”

Fushimi opened his other eye and gave him a sardonic look. “You're hallucinating,” he replied.

Misaki snorted before he laced his fingers against the back of his head and leaned against the bench, similar to what he was doing. However, his friend stared up at the blue sky that was dotted with white puffs of clouds. “Was any of it real?”

“Of course,” Fushimi replied, clicking his tongue lightly. “Just because it's in our minds, doesn't make it not real.”

“I know,” His friend groused quietly, “but some times, I wonder...if what happened, after all these years, was that real?”

Fushimi flicked a knife into his fingers, absently playing with it as he watched the sunlight bounce motes of light off of the blade. “I could stab you. That'll make it real.”

“Be serious, Saru.” Fushimi did not have to look over to his left to see Misaki with a plaintive look on his face.

“I am being serious, you baby,” he shot back, “why are you asking stupid questions?”

“Maybe because I don't get it,” Misaki replied, “maybe cause after all these years, I still don't want to see Totsuka-san die in my arms! Maybe because after all these years, Mikoto-san would still be alive!”

Fushimi glanced sharply at the redhead. He did not know that particular fact about Totsuka Tatara's death. All he had known was that the he had been found dead, shot by the Colorless King along with damning video evidence. He suspected Kusanagi had probably found the body, the eventual death certificate filed claiming who was witness to the death, but Misaki's name was never on it. Even the phone that Totsuka had showed that the last person the man called was Kusanagi.

It stood to reason that he was probably the only one who was the most rational and calm of the Red Clansmen that could have handled the logistics and process the death of one of the Suoh Mikoto's Clansmen with such aplomb. Misaki's involvement threw Fushimi's assumptions into a new light.

And he felt the stirring of something he did not know what to name in him as he stared at his friend. Was it...sympathy? He didn't want to name it.

“Maybe after all these years, maybe you would still be my friend,” Misaki finished, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we didn't have to fight, maybe we didn't have to hate each other in order to reconcile.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue irritably. “Then what good would it have done? We stagnate, we live our day-to-day lives in the world of the Slate. I suppose you'd like that, right?”

It was a dig, but rather than get angry as Fushimi had expected Misaki to, his friend surprised him once more by shooting him a dark look. “You wanna explain? I thought we had it too good in the world of the Slate, that everything was so stagnated that I didn't feel...satisfied. I felt like I could do more, become more, advance our friendship to a new level. That you and I don't have to sit on benches like this trying to talk to one another. That maybe we could go back to the way things are-”

Fushimi arched an eyebrow as he stared at his friend. “I don't exactly _want_ to regress back to middle school.”

“Sa-ru-hi-ko,” Misaki dragged out.

“Mi-sa-ki,” he retaliated.

“You really want to leave things like this?” The redhead crossed his arms across his chest. His right leg rolled the skateboard back and forth.

Fushimi fell silent as he looked away. He...he didn't exactly want to, but at the same time, he was somehow terrified. He did not know why. He had lived with roughly the same amount of years where the two of them had been the best of friends and the worst of enemies.

“Can't go back,” he replied as he absently sheathed his knife and drew out one of the dart-knives he had. He fiddled around with it, rolling it around his fingers.

“I don't want to either,” Misaki replied quietly. “I don't want to be your enemy anymore. I don't want to hate you anymore.” He uncrossed his arms and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “I told that 'voice of the Slate' or whatever it wanted to call itself that I didn't want to stay in the dream world anymore because I wanted to move on. That to me it was a way to grow, to learn. Keeping me in that dream world was good and all, but if things stagnated, then I wouldn't learn, that I wouldn't realize things.”

“...So you do have a brain,” Fushimi muttered, but it was without malice. Out of the corner of his eye he caught that eye roll his friend threw at him.

“Can't even have a serious conversation with you right now.”

“I am being serious,” he replied, but before Misaki could splutter or protest, he continued, “otherwise why would have told me that I needed to explain to you in many different ways until you understood things.” The unspoken '_understood me_' was left unsaid.

That got a small bark of laughter from his friend.

“I guess we both have to learn how to move forward...”

Fushimi clicked his tongue in absent agreement as he rolled his fingers some more, letting the dart-knife juggle across his knuckles. It was rather soothing, but he also knew it gave the others a lot less to worry about seeing that he was juggling a smaller knife instead of his usual complement. He still had yet to master the large wedge-headed ones, but that might prove too cumbersome to juggle in one hand.

A silence that felt quite amicable fell between them, reminding Fushimi a bit of the days before they had joined HOMRA – when they were out on the streets, ditching classes. Those had been more innocent days. Now...now they were both Clansmen. But with the Slate gone, perhaps...

Perhaps they could return to something similar to those days...

“That new?”

Fushimi looked over to see that Misaki had closed both eyes, but cracked one open, staring at the knife in his hand.

“Requisitioned it,” he replied blandly.

“At least your King has the sense to approve of the purchase. Figured he might have conformed all of Sceptre 4 to just using swords.”

Fushimi nearly dropped the blade, surprised by Misaki's insight. At the same time, he wondered if his friend knew...knew the other part of the truth behind his change of allegiance from HOMRA to Sceptre 4. That he had been recruited personally by Munakata – by a King he had no fear of because he wanted him – valued him. That he had defected partially because he was afraid. Afraid of Suoh Mikoto, afraid to lose Yata-

He pulled himself forward and sat with his arms on his thighs as he stared at the dart-knife. “Can't go back...” he murmured. “Too afraid...”

“...Saru?”

Fushimi sighed as he pushed his glasses up past the bridge of his nose. He was going to get a smear on the lens, but he didn't care. He suddenly had the need to let Misaki know why. But the words felt like they were stuck in his throat.

“Too afraid of making the same mistakes,” he muttered as he set the dart-knife to the side. “The complacency...it...was good, but I was scared. Scared that it was going to go back to what it was, because with the Red King alive-”

“...that we would start fighting against each other because the Red and Blue Kings usually never get along with one another. The alliance we had, the Silver King was the only one keeping us together...”

“That it was going to end...” Fushimi shook his head slightly. “Can't go back...”

“...Saru, what about moving forward?”

He shot Misaki a sideways glance.

“I mean...the Slate's gone. Anna isn't the Red King anymore. Captain Munakata isn't the Blue King anymore...I mean...we both found common ground, right? We're talking...and maybe... Maybe the others can also find the same ground we've got, right?” Misaki looked hesitant before he leaned towards him. “Maybe we don't have to define ourselves by our clans. Maybe this is the Slate's way of saying that what we had was great, but now we can figure out everything on our own. That we're not bound to the legacies of the Clansmen that came before us. That yeah, I'm still Red Clansmen and you're Blue Clansmen, but who says we have to really conform to that?”

Fushimi could not help the bitter but relieved laugh that escaped his lips as he stared at his friend. Since when did Misaki become so insightful and make it sound so simple, yet so right?

Misaki drew back, slightly annoyed. “What?”

“...When did you make sense?” Fushimi had to ask as he lifted his hand from his face and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. Oddly, there was no smudge mark. A hint of a smile appeared on the corner of his lips as he saw his friend splutter a little and turn a faint shade of pink in embarrassment.

“I...I-”

The faint smile disappeared as Fushimi heard his PDA ring as well as felt the buzz of an incoming call. He sighed and pulled it out, staring at the caller ID. _It's like he's got the most unusual timing_, he thought.

“Duty calls?” Misaki asked, leaning over again to stare at the caller ID.

It was from the captain.

Fushimi ignored his friend and accepted the call. “Sir.”

“Ah, I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Munakata's voice was smooth and Fushimi rolled his eyes. Perhaps the Slate left some remnant of power within the Blue King to feel his Clansmen's moods or something. Maybe that could explain the uncanny timing.

“What is it?” he asked, clipped.

“Research Division is asking for your post-engagement evaluation.” The way his King's voice was saying was utterly mundane that Fushimi was really suspicious that there wasn't a camera or perhaps something spying on him at this rate. He knew it was paranoia talking, but Fushimi did wonder. “Please return to campus when you can. They'd like an accurate evaluation of all who went through the Wish the remnant Slate was able to produce.”

“Have we figured out the exact cause? Also, is this the only remnant piece we were able to recover from the excavation site?”

“All very good questions. I am hoping Awashima-kun will return with answers soon from the Silver Clansmen,” Munakata replied. “Again, please return when you can.” The click of the phone disconnecting left Fushimi clicking his tongue in thought. He lowered his PDA, staring thoughtfully at it.

“Huh...I bet you can hollow-point this,” Misaki murmured near him and he turned to see that the redhead had picked up the dart-knife he had set down and was staring at it intently.

Fushimi stood up. The conversation was already ending so he had nothing else to say. However, his movement made Misaki look up.

“W-Wait, you're going?”

“Work,” he replied in a driest tone possible. “Unlike you, HOMRA slacker.” He added in a jibe, but couldn't quite put much heat into it since it was Misaki after all who had some insightful comments.

“Well, excuse me government worker. Not my fault you decided to lower your standards for salary and the like,” Misaki replied, but there was a toothy smile to his retort.

Fushimi merely shook his head as he turned to leave the park. “Keep it,” he called back, as he could sense that his friend was about to run up to him to return the dart-knife.

“Hey Saru!” Misaki suddenly called out just as he reached the edge of the park.

He stopped.

“Maybe we can talk some more? You're always welcomed at the bar. Anna's been asking after you. So has Kusanagi-san.”

Fushimi hesitated for a long moment before inclining his head and walking away. He did not know why he did that. He really did not feel comfortable entering Bar HOMRA, the memories still too fresh, still too raw. But at the same time...perhaps there was some merit to Misaki's words from before – that with the destruction of the Slate, they need not stand on the painful past and only look to move forward.

* * *

A few days later, there was a small package waiting on Fushimi's desk. A few light jokes about what day it was followed by boxes of chocolates passed around from the others – given to them by sweethearts or friends was ignored by him. Kamo had received a large box of chocolates from his daughter. Awashima was still blushing red from something she received. As for the small box left on Fushimi's desk, Hidaka restrained himself just so at commenting on the delivered item. But the other members of Sceptre 4's Special Police Force did wonder if the small package was chocolates – after all, it was Valentine's Day.

It was quickly chased by speculation of who _would_ be sending the resident ill-tempered, perpetually annoyed and dangerously scary third-in-command.

Fushimi never cared about any of the holidays nor its traditions and so was selectively oblivious to the the day in question as he picked up the package and stared at it. It was written in Misaki's messy, almost illegible scrawl, but somehow the post carrier was able to make it out whom to deliver it to. Perhaps it was the sticker of the monkey emoji that helped, he supposed. Fushimi opened it and inside found his dart-knife, with an impeccably cut hollow point. It was followed by a short note: [Hope this helps.]

He hefted the blade and to his pleasant surprise, the balance had not changed at all. Maybe they _could_ move forward – not as things were in the past, because they could not go back to those carefree times, but they could perhaps move towards a future that could one day be carefree.


End file.
